


i gasped to call after you fast: please come back, you're a part of me, dear

by chelseavao



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, Flashback Spoilers, Gen, M/M, Prequel, brief and hopefully accurate observations on russian culture, i mean it's quick but uhhh, idk i'm not your mom, makkachin is holding the braincell, maybe watch the show first then read it, mentions of yuuri katsuki - Freeform, starring victor "'lucky' by britney spears" nikiforov, victor is a big gay pining mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseavao/pseuds/chelseavao
Summary: Toska.Spiritual anguish. Longing. Melancholia. Restlessness. Yearning.Untranslatable into English, unable to be explained to anyone who hadn't grown up in their harsh winters; who hasn't spent their childhood staring out across frozen, unlivable land as far as the eye can see and feeling so small and so very, very alone.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	i gasped to call after you fast: please come back, you're a part of me, dear

**Author's Note:**

> my wife and i were rewatching parts of the series after the ice adolescence teaser and i just love the idea of exploring different types of loneliness and that aching feeling we humans get when we long for understanding and connection; that desire to be seen completely. i'm so happy that viktor and yuuri have that in each other.
> 
> basically, i'm a big gay romantic and looking at viktor is like looking in a mirror, so here's a brief lil somethin-somethin sprinkled with Feelings.

For over half of his life, Viktor Nikiforov thought that the closest thing to heaven was the rush he felt when he completed a successful quadruple flip.

That is, until he saw Yuuri Katsuki do the exact same thing.

He nearly wore down the battery on his phone rewatching the video, tapping his thumb to rewind so that he could see the stunt again and again.

Viktor had watched videos of himself perform, of course. Even if he didn't enjoy watching himself - and he did, he couldn't deny his own ego - Yakov would have him sit down after every performance and study the footage for mistakes, gold medal or not.

 _"You see, Vitya? You take point-two seconds to turn here -_ bozhe moy _, could have cost us whole competition. Foolish boy,_ ne valay duraka _. Do better. Focus!"_

Katsuki's performance wasn't completely flawless. It wasn't even the most technically polished he'd seen. Ever since he did the _"Stay Close To Me"_ routine, his social media feeds had been flooded with amateurs trying to recreate it.

But this was the first time it felt _real_.

He started the video again. There were some shaky movement as the phone was set down followed by some shouted encouragement in Japanese. Katsuki gave a quick, shy smile before inhaling deep, setting his shoulders and getting into character.

A look up to the sky. An exhale. A raise of the right hand to his temple, as if he felt faint. And then - the music swelled. 

The man's body curled into itself as he began the first movement, skates gliding across the ice as smooth as silk. Each spin, each step sequence was accompanied by a furrow of his brow and a sadness in his eyes. As if he was searching for something just out of reach, something to make him whole again.

The routine had been born out of a hollow ache that had been growing for years. Viktor frowned as he pressed his knuckles to his diaphragm, pushing hard into the fabric of his shirt and into the soft tissue of his off-season muscle. Right _there_ \- something beyond hunger, beyond thirst. He smiled bitterly as he remembered an old Russian word from an ancient Nabokov paperback Yakov used to carry around:

 _Toska._ Spiritual anguish. Longing. Melancholia. Restlessness. Yearning.

Untranslatable into English, unable to be explained to anyone who hadn't grown up in their harsh winters; who hasn't spent their childhood staring out across frozen, unlivable land as far as the eye can see and feeling so small and so very, very alone.

Makkachin let out a heavy sigh and burrowed her muzzle against his ribs, demanding attention. Viktor blinked himself out of his thoughts - how long had he been sitting there? He squinted and cursed at the combination of the time and the low battery alert on his phone.

" _Prosti,_ Makka, my darling. Did your papa forget you?" He smiled and scratched behind her ears, his fingers getting caught in her soft, curly fur. "What a terrible man he is."

She gave a low bark in response - Viktor's only warning before she attacked his chest, putting all of her weight onto her front paws. He cried out in mock agony, batting at her with weak fists. "No! No, please, I cannot die this way! Please, whatever you wish, Makka, it's yours!"

Satisfied that she had gotten her master's attention, the poodle hopped off the couch and trotted to the door to yank her leash off the hook.

"Ah, how did I know?" Viktor grinned and ran a hand through his hair. "Let Papa get ready - I don't have warm fur like you do." He pocketed his soon-to-be-useless brick of a phone and stretched before moving to stand.

Something flashed inside his head as he stumbled a bit, legs having fallen asleep after hours - a memory, far-off and yet still so fresh in his dreams.

Everything in doubles, champagne-warm and bubbly. A man's laughter ringing in his ear, fingers intertwined and spinning, spinning. Two heartbeats, chest to chest, warm brown eyes like hot cocoa staring into his own.

Viktor swallowed as he regained his balance, heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears. A warm flush settled high on his cheeks. He brought his hand back up to his abdomen, curling his fist where the _toska_ lay clawing and tearing at his ribs.

His ears pricked at the sound of Makkachin's nails scratching the wood of his front door. He took a long, deep breath and shook out his muscles; gave a quick one-two flap of his hands and cracked his knuckles.

_"That's enough of that childish foolishness, Vitya. Focus your gaze ahead."_

He opened the hall closet door and stared at the rack. Three coats of his own hung on the right side, all of varying degrees of warmth and price. The left side lay bare except for three dusty hangers, waiting for their own woolen matches.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. The screen was dull and the percentage was almost in the negative, but he could see the image well enough - someone else texted him Katsuki's performance. The screenshot of the video was paused while he was mid-landing, reaching out to the screen with an aching, hungry look in his eyes.

_"Stay Close to Me."_

Viktor swiped his thumb to get to his messenger app and started to shrug on his coat one-handed. A quick text to Yakov before he could lose his nerve:

_"How much are plane tickets to Japan?"_

**Author's Note:**

> also was makka's gender confirmed? whatever, she's a girl because i said so.
> 
> _[ title is a translated excerpt from the russian poem "loneliness" by ivan bunin ]_


End file.
